


What Frank Knew

by HillandGlen



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:08:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29558883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HillandGlen/pseuds/HillandGlen
Summary: Thoughts from the Future.
Relationships: Brianna Randall Fraser Mackenzie/Frank Randall, Claire Beauchamp/Frank Randall
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	What Frank Knew

Claire stood in the doorway, Frank was engrossed in the documents in front of him. “Are they the documents from the Reverend?” she asked. Every time she saw the Reverend’s handwriting on a package, she always had a tremor in her heart. Would Jamie’s name ever come up in the Jacobite Papers Frank researched? And if the did would he ever tell her?

Frank looked up “No, no, these are the Army papers for Denys Randell, Jonathan Wolverton Randell's son” he said distractedly. 

Claire blanched at the sound of Black Jacks name. “His son?” she said

“Yes his son, he had one you know, or else I would not be here.” Frank said irritatedly. “Did you want something?”

“Of course, just to say I have a late lecture tomorrow. Will you be alright to put Brianna to bed?” Claire asked 

“Don't I always.” Frank stared at her “I do know how to look after our daughter. I do more than you” Frank said pointedly. 

Claire glared back at him. “Just because I am out of the house more, do NOT make it out that I do not love or look after my daughter!” she spun on her heel and went down the hallway to Brianna’s room. 

Frank shook his head and went back to his research, but couldn’t concentrate and threw his pen down. 

He hated when Claire asked about anything the Reverend sent, mainly, because his research had found the highlander Claire claimed was Brianna's biological father. 

When Claire had come back, he had not wanted to believe her, the fantastical story she had spun, but over the last seven years had found so much evidence that in fact existed. That the Jacobite known as red Jamie was James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser, and that the woman known as the Stuart witch was in undisputedly Claire. 

Frank had found that the man had lived after Culloden and where he had finally been inprisoned, and where he had been sent from that prison. The trail had run cold there though. The Reverend was looking for any sign of him still. 

Frank had told the Reverend, that Red Jamie was an ancestor of Claire’s and that he wanted to be able to tell Brianna when she got older, that maybe that is where she got her red hair from. It was a good a reson as any.

But today he was doing research of BJR’s son, who like him had joined the Army. He had so far found that he had been sent to America to fight in the war of Independence and was following him from New York, to Quebec , in the Company of a William Ransome. The latest documents, was a note from Denys Randell, to Ransome telling him to wait in Quebec for him. It had been found within the personal papers of Ransomes stepfather Lord John Gray. Frank had a faint idea that he had heard that name before. He would have to check it out. 

Six months later. 

Frank opened the package from the North Carolina institute. He had written to them after he had found that Lord John Gray was, in fact, in charge of the prison Red Jamie had been sent to, and into who’s parole he had been given. An inquiry in Britain at the Grey’s family home had explained that John Grey had settled after the War of Indpendence in North Carolina, at a place called Fraser's Ridge.

The first document Frank opened was a grant of land, to James Fraser from Gov. Tyron In 1767. Frank sat down with a thud, finally he picked it up and began to read.

It was for ten thousand acres and was in the back woods of North Carolina. The land was to be settled and worked by the aforesaid James Fraser and his wife Claire, the title paper said.

Frank dropped the copy of the document back on his desk. Wife! Claire. He swallowed hard and thought of the dates. If this was true, well Claire went back then, in about 11/12 years time, or ,maybe earlier, but definitly by then. 

He heard her in the kitchen then and went to the door, from there he could see her. She was hmming to herself quietly as Bree sat at the table reading. When would Claire leave him? How would she find James Fraser? These thoughts ran through his head, but most of all, Brianna, would she take her too? He felt his heart break.

Quietly he went back to his desk, carefully shutting the door behind him. The next was a copy of an obituary. The deaths in a fire, of both of them, but it said they had no surviving children. Did that mean she left Bree? Had Bree gone as well then died? Shakily he found he was holding his breath as he lifted the next from the pile. It was a commission, as a Indian Agent, for James Fraser, but this was dated later than the obituary? Had they not died then? At least not when this newspaper said. He rubbed his jaw and sank back into his seat. He would have to search all the records for that area and the Military records for then. 

Two weeks later, he found him self stood in the small museum in Fraser's Ridge, North Carolina. He has arrived the night before and booked into the Big House, guest house. Dorothea Murray had told him it was one of the oldest houses in the area, built at the time of the war of Independence, and on the site of the Original Big house which had burned down in 1776. 

Now he stood looking up at a painting, of James and Claire Fraser, the Founders of the town. He felt hollow, the man was stood beside Claire, who was seated, his hand on her shoulder, she was looking up at him. Never had Frank – even before Claire had disappererd- seen her look at him like that. 

Frank also realised, that in all the time, that he had wondered what the bastard looked like, he had been looking at him, in Brianna’s face, everyday.

Eventually he moved along to the next painting, and this one hit him harder than he ever thought possible. There, in front of him, stood Brianna, with a tall dark man, a red headed boy and a young girl, the spit image of Claire. His eyes dropped to the plaque at the bottom. 

The Reverend Roger Wakefield Mackenzie, his wife Brianna Fraser MacKenzie with their children Jeremiah and Amanda MacKenzie. 

Frank turned and pushed passed the curator at the reception. “Are you OK sir?” she called after him. 

He walked done the hill till he got to the river, his head in a spin. So Claire had taken Bree with her. Brianna had stayed, and taken Fraser name. He felt sick, and heartbroken. Had she forgotten him in favour of this man Fraser, just as Claire had done? Why? Was he, Frank so forgettable, or was Fraser just so much better than him? 

He sat there for a long time, smoking cigarette after cigarette, till finally he rose and walked back up the hill and re-entered the museum.

“Are you OK sir?” the woman asked again. 

This time Frank looked at her and nodded “Yes, yes, I'm fine, just came over a bit faint” 

“Can I help you with anything? My names Sandy Beardsley, well Alexandra, really.” she blushed

“Are you from here?” Frank asked

“Oh yes, sir, my family come from the original settler, James Fraser and his wife Claire, I was named for James Alexander Fraser” she said proudly. 

“Can you tell me about them?” Frank asked.

“Certainly, I'm starting at Harvard next month, studying History and I did my entrance paper on the family” Sandy said proudly. 

So Sandy told him, how the family had settled, how her great great great Grandfather had adopted Fergus Fraser, who had married Marsali MacKimmie and how she had come from that line. 

How Brianna Fraser had arrived from Scotland once the first cabin had been built, and married Roger Mackenzie, who had followed her from Scotland, and after almost being hung at the Battle of Alamance, had become a minister. How the Mackenzie’s had returned to Scotland for a while, but then came back, not being able to settle. 

How, James Fraser had fought on the side of the Americans, how Claire Fraser had been shot while working as a Army surgeon. How Jeremiah Mackenzie had run the whisky venture his grandfather had started and how each elder son had run it after. How Jeremiah Walter MacKenzie, Jem’s second son had has disappeared in 1794 at age 3, along with his Father’s cousin Germain Fraser, neither had ever been found.

Frank lay in bed that night, taking in all he knew. He would have to reserch Brianna's journey from Scotland, but she must have been at least 20, when she went. Had Claire left her with, he, Frank, or had she left her in Scotland with Fraser kin? When did Claire go? 

He found tears welling in his eyes. Notwithstanding, all that had happened, he had never stopped loving Claire, and he adored Brianna. But now he knew he was living on borrowed time. He would lose, not one, but both of them to the red haired bastard, this time. 

He didn’t sleep that night, but by the time the sun rose, he knew what he must do. He didn’t know how Claire would tell Bree, but he would leave some bread crumbs to the discovery if need be. He had realised during the night, that Roger Wakefield MacKenzie was Reg’s son. So he would leave things with the Reverend. He was after all older than Frank and when he died all would probably be left to Roger. But would they be gone by then? 

The one thing he could do for his darling daughter was to equip her. He would make sure she could, ride and shoot and camp. He would persuade her to take history at University, so she would know what was coming. 

He got up and showered and took another walk up the hill after breakfast. Sandy Beardsley was just opening up. 

“Good Morning Mr Randall, back again?” she smiled prettily

“Yes, yes, I was wondering, do you have anymore information about Brianna Fraser Mackenzie?” he asked.

Sandy nodded, “Yes, there is a sketch book, its very fragile as you may imagine. It’s not the sketches of the portraits, more musings, we believe. Oh and there is of course the painting of their youngest son, born after they came back from Scotland. It hasn’t been rehung, it was damaged slightly and was being repaired. Would you like to see them?” she asked leading the way into the building. 

Frank nodded “Please, I would very much like to”

Sandy led him into a back room, and opened a sealed cupboard, handing him a pair of gloves and taking the sketch book to a table, she left him to look through it as she went to get the portrait. 

The sketch book was a delight, full of the musings of Brianna's head. He could see her thoughts in it all. The first one of her mother, kneeling in the earth planting something, caught in his breathe. He had never seen Claire at peace, like this. 

The one of the dark man Roger Mackenzie,- would Reg’s son really grow up to be this handsome man – sitting with the baby girl. Frank stopped with a start, that baby was his Granddaughter, even if he would never meet her, he supposed. He looked through quickly, for his Grandson, finding him sitting on the river bank, much like he himself had yesterday. 

And the drawings of that man: laughing, shouting, working, with the children, with Roger, and most often with Claire. Frank stood back and went to close the book. The final page dropped open, and his heart soared, because there, with Bree and Roger, and the children, Bree had drawn himself, holding the youngest child. He couldn't even swallow, as tears fell from his eyes.

Quickly as he heard the young curator coming back, he dashed them away. 

“Here” Sandy lift the painting up, “This is Frank Reginald Fraser” she said.


End file.
